


Tarnished Silver

by FromAnonymousToZ



Series: Lanternuary 2021 [1]
Category: Over the Garden Wall (Cartoon & Comics)
Genre: Gen, Lanternuary 2021, Let the Beast Have Friends 2021, Lost items, Out of many one, Referenced Minor Character Death, The Beast is both a singular and a multitude, brooch, e pluribus unum, identity crisis, on a very small scale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-03
Updated: 2021-01-03
Packaged: 2021-03-12 03:40:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28503873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FromAnonymousToZ/pseuds/FromAnonymousToZ
Summary: The Beast finds a brooch in the snow, and it belongs to him in some sense of the word. He figures it would be put to better use elsewhere.For the Lanternuary 2021 prompt: e pluribus unum: "out of many, one"
Relationships: Lorna & The Beast (Over the Garden Wall)
Series: Lanternuary 2021 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2087931
Comments: 6
Kudos: 22





	Tarnished Silver

The brooch lays disregarded in the snow. Its owner shall never pin it to her breast again. It will never be polished by a loving father or straightened by a fussing mother. It glints tarnished silver from the unblemished snow. 

The Beast regards it curiously, and distantly, within his chest, a single soul gives a weeping lurch at the sight of it. 

He ignores the cascade of emotion from his other souls that it triggers, their voices a din of noise he’s more than used to ignoring. 

He kneels in the snow and picks up the brooch. 

It was a young girl’s, a girl who was long since gone to the forest, gone to the fire, the only remnants of her clinging to the Beast’s being and marring his bark. It had been her grandmother’s. She had clung to it for comfort. 

It had been one of the first things he had taken from her, shredding her small handhold in comfort, pushing her into despair. 

It was certainly not the first time he had stolen from a mortal. It was not even the first time he had taken a brooch.

There had been an old widow, not two decades before, and he had taken everything he could find that might be of value in her camp and dumped it in the river to make it seem as if thieves had ransacked her little sleeping grounds. 

And before that, a newly wedded couple. The Beast had taken her brooch and both of their rings. The result of which was a truly spectacular yelling match, in which the volume of both parties could have easily rivaled his singing as it painted the backdrop of their argument. 

The brooch is a simple thing, shaped like a five-pointed flower, made of some tarnished metal.

His claws close around it, and somewhere, buried under his loud multitude of souls, the girl’s soul gives a guttering wail of distress.

It’s his now, technically, because she is a part of him. He has no use for a brooch. Nor would he want some pretty thing to adorn his furs. He considers abandoning it, another relic lost to the edelwoods, another beloved thing buried by snow. 

And yet, he finds he cannot. 

He pulls it under his furs. 

It would not do to abandon something of his out in the snow. Better to gift it where it might be used.

He begins his trek through the woods, a single destination in mind.

The cabin is small, tucked into a clearing, and despite the chill in the air, no smoke paints the sky above it. The Beast casts a critical glance over the cabin, trying to discern if it’s elder inhabitant is home. He stands in the shade of his trees, snow drifting down in fat flakes and covering the ground as he reaches out to feel the magic in the house. 

Only the witch-pup. 

He hums, pleased, and strides forward, leaving crisp tracks in the carpet of snow blanketing the clearing. 

He circles around the cabin, ignoring the door, and comes to the window just above the stove. 

His claws tap lightly at the window, coated in frost.

He waits patiently, peering through the icy glass at a figure sweeping the floors, her back to him. 

After a moment, he slips his claws under the catch and pulls open the window, his voice drifting singsongily through it.

“Little Lorna,” He calls and watches as the witch pup whirls, eyes wide and surprised. Her face breaks into a grin when she sees him. 

“Turtle!” She cries and rushes to the window before she schools her expression, trying to appear stern. “Auntie Whispers says I’m not to talk to you anymore. You’ll only tempt me to wickedness.” 

The Beast hums at that eyes, dancing in pleased rings of color.

“Perhaps,” The Beast coos. “However, I find wickedness has its uses.” 

Lorna bats a hand at him, trying to veil her smile, and he laughs.

“I have a gift for you, little Lorna,” He purrs, voice painted with warm humor, and she cannot hide her eagerness. 

He reaches into his furs and withdraws the tarnished brooch, holding it aloft and offering it through the window. 

The witch-pup’s hands clasp over her mouth in surprise. 

“Oh! Turtle!” Her hands shake as she takes it from his hands, holding it reverently. She coos. “Is this from one of your wayward souls?” 

“But of course, Nightingale.” His claws tap the windowsill. “What would you take me for?” 

“Scavenger,” She teases, running her fingers along the edge of the brooch. She glances back up at him. “Are you certain, Turtle?”

“Of course,” He assures. “I have no need for such a thing. It will serve a better purpose with you than in the snow.”

“Thank you, dear,” She says, cradling the pin, delight across her face as she looks over it. “Will you help me pin it on?” 

He inclines his head and crooks his hand for her to hand him the brooch.

He has to lean awkwardly against the windowsill, hooking his claw under the strap of her apron to pin the metal flower there. 

When he draws back to tuck his arms back into his furs, she tilts her head to observe the pin. 

“Oh, it’s lovely! Thank you, turtle!” He hums and asks her how her turtles fare. 

Soon he finds himself fondly listening to her talk all about the wanderers who have happened upon the cabin and the latest gossip from town. He hums and occasionally adds his own thoughts but allows her to talk for the better part of their conversation. 

She stops mid-sentence, describing a red-headed girl she has made friends with as she glances over his shoulder through the window at the position of the sun.

Her hand flutters to her mouth in surprise.

“Oh, dear! How did it get so late! I’m afraid I must get back to my chores now. I’m so sorry, turtle, perhaps I can tell you more another time!” He inclines his head at that. 

“Of course,” He rumbles. “I shan’t distract you any further. You have bones to sort, and I have trees to tend.”

“Thank you for the brooch, Turtle! Come and visit me again soon!” She calls out the window as he begins to pick his way back into the forest. “Be careful!” 

He laughs at that, and his laughter spirals up into the sky, folding into a song as he disappears into shadow.


End file.
